


It's All Fun and Games

by cuddlemecrowley



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Domestic Violence, M/M, Slight Homophobia eventually, Swearing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-26
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-09 13:52:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/774945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddlemecrowley/pseuds/cuddlemecrowley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a football player who is in GPA hell, and Castiel is asked to save him. Things change as time wears on, when Dean realizes why Castiel acts so stiffly, and Castiel discovers about Dean's tense family life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Until Someone Threatens Your Place

**Author's Note:**

> After being asked about it, I decided to write a Destiel HS AU. There is bound to be tons of angsty drama but also some fluff. And maybe some sex. I don't know, I haven't decided. Comments/suggestions/compliments are always welcome!

Mr. Shurley’s class was, as usual on Friday afternoons, loud and unruly. It certainly didn’t help that Mr. Shurley had chosen to have the class watch a movie, an hour-long History Channel special on the Cuban Missile Crisis, while he sat in the back at his desk and worked on his novel. It was hardly a secret. Castiel could not blame the man for wanting an hour of not teaching- after all, from what he’d gathered from his teacher in their discussions, his true passions were with the written words, especially if those words had ghosts and vampires and werewolves and The Great American Adventure. The afternoon light was only partially dimmed by the Venetian blinds, which created a lax attitude for the class. Despite Mr. Shurley’s insistence that they would have to take notes, Castiel was the only one taking them. Everyone else had opted to gossip, albeit quietly, since despite his moonlighting as an author, Mr. Shurley was, at times, a formidable teacher. 

Castiel didn’t mind the murmurs at all. His own mind was half-focused on the amount of homework he had planned for the weekend. It would be a very productive weekend- a paper in English, at least ten pages to cover in calculus, a few chapters in History to read and take notes on, and to round off, a worksheet in Spanish. Castiel’s planner, hidden safe in his backpack, held these notices,, but he found himself unable to stop repeating it, mulling it over like a litany, a prayer. He would like be done by early Sunday afternoon, if he worked steadily, which hopefully he would be able to use to read until well into the night. He’d been aching to read Les Miserables for quite some time, and having the free time would be a godsend. 

He was just about to allow himself the idyllic daydream of perching in his armchair, steaming cup of green tea beside him, when he was poked in the back. He started and turned, smiling a little. “Yes, Uriel?”

Uriel was just thick-shouldered enough, and wore a mean enough expression, to have people question why he was in honors at all- he just didn’t look like the studying kind. But once you knew him, he was incredibly intelligent and the funniest person in the group- just ask anyone. “You’re still coming to study group, right?” rasped Uriel. 

He nodded. “I’ll be there. Do you need me to bring anything?”

“No, I believe everything is taken care of.” 

Castiel nodded and returned to his notes. Study Group would be fun- being able to see his friends without the pressures of the judgment of other highschoolers would be nice.

The bell rang shortly afterwards, and the scuffle of students trying to find their backpacks and get out of the classroom surrounded him. He joined the noise, sliding his notebook into his bag and rising. He was almost out the door when Mr. Shurley called out “Dean? Castiel? May I speak with you two for a minute?”

Castiel glanced at Uriel, who was waiting at the door, and nodded. “I’ll be out soon,” he promised, and turned to face Mr. Shurley and Dean.

Dean Winchester, who was currently in the back row looking apprehensive, was a new student, who had arrived a few months ago and had already made the football team and, if the rumors were true, were very popular among the ladies. A man’s man, you could say. Anna had certainly expressed some interest in him, but it was easy to dissuade her of her affections. He was not someone he wanted around his little sister, no matter how picturesque he was. From an aesthetic standpoint, Castiel could see how someone might even call him beautiful. 

Dean coughed suddenly, and Castiel blinked himself out of his thoughts, realizing that both he and Mr. Shurley were staring at him. “Earth to Cas,” teased the other boy. Castiel fought down his blushes. 

“My apologies. Lost in my thoughts.”

“Castiel, Dean here needs your help. His grades are- well, they’re bad, and he needs them to be better to stay on the team. Do you mind saving him from GPA hell?”

He would have been lying if he said he didn’t swear, softly and to himself. “Um.” Very articulate, Novak, he reprimanded. He cleared his throat, despite the rising panic of a difference, an obstacle, an obstruction of his scheduled plan. “I am unsure if I would be the best for the job.” It sounded weak, even to his ears. 

Mr. Shurley sighed, but Dean spoke first, voice low and angry. “Hey man, I know you’re too busy with your own schoolwork and shit- it’s cool,” he spat, indicating that there was nothing ‘cool’ about it. “I don’t need a tutor anyways. Later, asshole. See ya, teach.”

Castiel watched him leave, puzzled, bewildered, and feeling as though he had been punched in the gut. Dean Winchester knew about him and his Honors friends? And the anger in his voice- it was unreasonably volatile in this context. Why was he so angry?

“Shit,” sighed Mr. Shurley. Castiel looked at him, shocked at the curse. “Look. I know you’re not, like, super popular, and maybe you aren’t exactly good with people, but this could definitely help him. You’ve got the highest grade in all of my classes, and you know how to teach people- I have seen you explaining World War 2 tactics to Uriel, and Lord knows that helped a lot more than I did. I know you can do this. You just have to be confident in yourself!”

“I’m not so sure,” deferred Castiel, but internally he was a lot less polite and pointed out each and every faultline in that logic, as well as admitted all of his fears and anxieties- most of all being his uneasy “people skills,” which were “rusty” at best.

“Look, just think about it, alright? He needs someone to pull him out of perdition.”

Castiel sighed, soft and slow, releasing the tension in his shoulders. His schedule would have to be rearranged, which still caused him to feel panicky, but… if he needed it. “Alright. I’ll do it.”

“Great!” His teacher’s almost-always watery eyes brightened, and he scribbled something down. In Mr. Shurley’s terrible handwriting was Dean Winchester, followed by nine numbers. Castiel accepted the scrap of paper and resolved to call tonight. Although, maybe texting would be easier. 

“Thank you, Mr. Shurley, he said, and turned to leave. 

“No, thank you. You’ll be saving him, you know. And the team.”

Ah yes. The team. Gordon, Alastair, Azazel, and so many others, who had mocked and ridiculed Castiel until just recently, when they realized that he did not, in fact, care. He was in honors and he was not going to stay here much longer- let them tease. 

***

Dean's earlier annoyance at Castiel had completely cleared off, thanks to practice and working almost harder than he ever had. Having showered and changed, he was finally heading to his car when he got the call. 

He grinned when he answered it. "Hey Sammy, what's up?"

"Hey Dean, I'm getting dinner with a few friends. I'll be home at seven, okay?" 

Dean smiled. His baby brother, actually being social with people. "Right on, Who with? You need a ride?"

"No, Jessica's mom is driving us. It's not a date," clarified Sam, too quickly. 

His grin could not get bigger. "Oooooh, who's Jessica? She hot?"

"Dean!" Ah, there it was: bitchface Sam, shocked at his older brother. "We're gonna go to McDonald's and go to the library to study. I'll let you know when I'm coming home."

"Alright, Sam, and hey! Make sure you treat her nicely."

"Jerk!" His voice squeaked in frustration.

"Bitch," Dean replied easily as he slid into his car. "I'll be home just after you, then. Dad's home early, remember."

"Alright, later."

"Later."

Dean shut off his phone and started his baby, a '67 Impala. "Hey, gorgeous," he whispered sweetly. This was their special time, the drive from practice to Bobby's Garage and then home. Shame it only lasted a few minutes. One day, he'd like to drive her cross-country, listen to her roar and purr beautifully across the flat road, stretching for miles. But, until then, he had to graduate. 

Aaaaand he was annoyed again. 

Damn nerdy stick-up-his-ass freak. The way he looked at Dean, like he was not worth even spending a few hours over. Which was, he thought with bitter acceptance, more than likely the case. His grades were... well, it was a good thing that Dean already had a job at Bobby's Garage. It was looking more and more like he wouldn't even graduate high school. More disturbing was the fact that Dean wasn't even sure if he cared or not. Sure, it'd be nice to have his diploma, but to be honest, he didn't see how much use he'd actually get from it. 

But there was Sam, who looked up to Dean with such damn admiration. To disappoint him was... it was unbearable. 

He drove into Bobby's parking lot, just behind the sagging and dusty house. The Garage had been, originally, just a large garage, attached to Bobby's house, but when he was married, the business had picked up and the Singers had converted that half of the house into a damn fine professional garage. When she had died, it was the Garage that saved Bobby- as well as destroyed him. It wasn't until recently that Bobby began to actually start dating- timidly, true, but dating all the same. It had been twenty years, before Dean was even born, and Bobby had yet to remove his wedding ring. Officially. 

Bobby, in his characteristic gruff and flannel, greeted him at the opened garage. Garth was already there, jamming to his terrible music. "Morning, sunshine, there's your favorite customer already jacked up for you." 

Sure enough, Mrs. Mills' beat-up old Jeep was perched, jacked up and ready for inspection. "Son of a bitch. What'd he do to her now?"

"Off-roading? Damned if I know."

Dean worked in a companionable atmosphere with Garth and Bobby, with no more than a few minor hitches. This was easy for Dean. He knew it. Before he knew it though, it was seven and Bobby was handing Dean a greasy carton of Chinese food- apparently Ash is a pansy and can't handle certain foods, or whatever. Dean accepted it- after all, he would have to eat, and he wasn't so sure about the contents of their fridge. "Thanks Bobby. I'll be back here at one tomorrow."

"Better come earlier- I'm ordering pizza. Extra anchovies and pineapple for you." Bobby's beard crinkled in something that Dean knew was a smile. It was the same smile he'd gotten when he was eight and beat a bully who tried messing with Sam, the same smile he'd gotten when he graduated from middle school in that stupid graduation thing, all during periods where John had dropped them off and they'd gone to Lawrence schools instead of bouncing. And now Bobby had given both John and Dean a job... reminding Dean with a bittersweet twist that if he screwed up school, Bobby probably wouldn't smile like that to Dean, ever again.

"I'll be sure to get them to put extra mushrooms on your sides, then," retorted Dean, and waved his goodbyes. The screen door slammed behind him as he left the porch. He checked his phone as he walked to the Impala. Five new messages and one missed call- damn. 

From Sam  
At McD's. Going to Library soon.

From unknown number  
Hello, Dean. This is Castiel, from Mr. Shurley's class. I apologize for my earlier response. If you would still 

From unknown number  
like a tutor, please return a call at this number, before ten o'clock. Thank you for your time.

From unknown number  
I also apologize for this unusual manner. Mr. Shurley gave me your number. I hope you do not mind.

From Sam-  
At home. Dad's drunk.

Dean checked the clock on his phone. 7:07. He sighed, and started his Baby. 

Recently, Sam had learned how to be a teenager. Not in the same way Dean was doing it, but the way only Sam could- by reading a bunch of classics, listening to moody music, and arguing with Dad. It was exhausting. 

Home was in a small neighborhood, just far enough for Dean to need his Baby to drive to school and work. They lived in a tiny apartment that had more problems than people on Maury and was hardly worth the rent. But it was still cheaper than most places in Lawrence, so that was what they had. A two-bedroom apartment was not big enough for three people, let alone the fact that two of those people were growing boys. Still. It was home.

Dean could hear the arguing before he got inside. Shit. This was not gonna be fun. Idly, he wondered what it was about this time- John’s drinking? Or Sam’s mini rebellions? Or both? 

He opened the door, tucking his carton in his arm in something like a protective stance, and called out “Hey!” It was only a warning call, an ‘oh God stop fighting before the neighbors start complaining’ call, but John barely looked at him through his heavy-lidded eyes. He was standing—okay, swaying—by the small kitchen table, gripping the wood tightly as though he might fall over at any moment. Sam, however, looked livid, and turned to Dean, looking for an ally. “Dad didn’t pay the rent, Dean!” 

Shit. “It’s fine, Sammy, I’ll go ahead and take care of it now.” Let’s see, it’s seven, the apartment manager should still be awake. He dropped his backpack by the couch and set the carton on the kitchen counter. “Here, I’ll be right back, but you two need to stop arguing, we could be evicted.”

“You shouldn’t have to take care of it at all, Dean!” Sam’s voice was damn near shrill. “Dad should be the one taking care of us!”

“I am taking care of you boys,” growled John, swaying once again. “Been taking care of you since Mary died—don’t you remember, you ungrateful assholes?”

“Taking care of us? How? By dragging us from town to town, or—“

“I’ve fed you, cleaned you, made sure we had a roof over our heads…”

“—by drinking so much that Dean has to bring your ass back home?”

“Okay, alright, alright, alright,” Dean’s voice raised as he got between the two, physically separating them. “Sammy, go take a shower, go to our room, just go—just take it easy, Dad,” he slung an arm around his dad’s waist and got him to steady. “Dad, let’s get you to bed, alright? Isn’t the game on? Come on—” 

His dad struggled for a moment or two, shifting and grumbling, trying to shrug Dean off, but Dean had done this for years, and he was much bigger than he was when Dad had began doing this. He could handle this. 

With his Dad in his bedroom, the crappy TV on in his room, Dean returned to the living room where a still-livid Sam stomped around. “Hey, Sasquatch, people do live below us.”

“Dean, it’s just… so unfair, though. That you have to do everything, that you’re… Dad’s not…” He stumbled for words. Dean could sympathize—how do you explain everything that’s wrong in your life?

“Look, Sammy, you gotta take it easy about these things. Especially to Dad. And it’s Friday, you know he doesn’t have to work tomorrow, it’s his treat at the end of the week, right? Just… just lay low, alright? I’m gonna take care of everything.” He opened the carton still on the counter- oh, sweet merciful heaven, broccoli and beef with rice. He dug around for a clean fork in the drawers, and having found it, started to dig in. Delicious. 

“But you shouldn’t have to take care of everything,” whined Sam, now leaning on the kitchen frame. “We’re his kids, he should be taking care of us!”

“And he has, Sam- you know that. It’s just been hard on him. Last few years.” Last thirteen years, actually, but the last few were especially bad, when he lost a few jobs and finally came back to Lawrence. “But he’s trying. Just give him a break. Besides, I’ve got everything under control.” 

Sam snorted. “Like getting groceries?”

They glanced at the fridge and shuddered. “Have you named the cheese, by the way? Since it’s fuzzy?”

“It’s Freddy. He’s gone now. In cheese heaven.”

“And may he find whatever cheesy peace he can find,” he replied solemnly. “Yeah, okay, that’s bad. I’ll get groceries tomorrow, after work.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “When you go, can you take me too?” 

“Sure, but we’re not getting organic.” Sam pulled a bitch face and Dean grinned. “Oh, how was the date?”

“It wasn’t a date,” replied Sam, too, too quickly. “We’re friends. She’s super smart—already thinking about colleges.” 

“Damn.” There was a tiny prickle of unease. “So, this thing, is it a tutoring thing, or--?”

“Just studying together. We’ve got a group project.” A blush crept up on his face, starting as his neck. Dean wondered how he had angled it so that he ended up working with her, but was all in all glad that he had something to occupy him with. “So what’s her name again? Jennifer?”

“Jessica. Her mom’s nice, too. Said I’m polite. Oh, and I’m going over there tomorrow morning. To her house. To study.”

“Dude. Awesome.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively, only to get punched in the shoulder. 

“Shut up Dean, it’s not like that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” The carton now finished, and Dean feeling much better with food in his stomach, he stretched and got the checkbook from underneath the ugly lamp—household security. “I’m gonna take care of this, then I’ll be right back.”

Sam nodded, looking worried, but settled down on the crappy thrift-store sofa. 

The rent was a day overdue, but Mr. Henrikson just bitched at him for a while before accepting it. Dean was used to the bitching. As long as he groveled enough, they wouldn’t be evicted. Because then he didn’t know what they would do—go to Bobby’s? But they couldn’t… that would be asking too much. No, no, he wouldn’t think of that. They wouldn’t get evicted. Dean would keep it all together. 

He paused before he returned to their apartment and reread Castiel’s texts. Sure, it was a little creepy, getting these texts, but he needed the help, as much as he didn’t want it. If he failed History… if he got kicked off of the team… He could handle the too-serious kid tutoring him, even if it meant that he had no concept of personal space or that it was generally a creep factor if he started to stare at people. It was that staring that got him teased so much, but Dean didn’t think he’d ever seen the guy actually angry. 

Before he could psych himself out, and not call, he dialed the number. The phone rang out for a while before the boy answered, breathless. “Hello, Dean.”  
Creepy.

“Hey, man, did I… interrupt something?”

“My family is having dinner. I excused myself to answer.” His voice was still weirdly rough and low, completely unfitting for the kid’s appearance. If he wasn’t sure that nerds like him would never get laid, he would have sworn that he’d just interrupted a terrific fucking session. “Are you calling because of the tutoring request?”

I need the help, he reminded himself. Graduation. Diploma. Sammy. “Yeah. Um. So you’ll do it?”

“Of course, Dean.” The voice was now laced with something like sarcasm… but nerds didn’t know how to do sarcasm, did they? 

“Right. So when should we meet up?”

“After school. Mondays would be best, but I can manage Wednesdays as well. If you don’t mind a delicate question, exactly how much help do you need?”

Dean gritted his teeth. Making Dad proud. Bobby too. “I don’t know, man, but I’m definitely behind. I tanked that first World War quiz.”

Castiel paused, then, long enough to make Dean add “I mean, I get it, the gist, Germany sucks and wanted too much, but I can’t make the specific stuff stick. And I’ve been lost in WW2.”

“I can help you with that, Dean,” Castiel replied, and damn it must be colder out here than he expected, because there was a shiver going down his spine. “Monday afternoon? At the school library? Since the rest of the class is currently at the Cold War, we may need to meet a few more times during the week, but that is entirely up to you and your schedule. We also may need to study together for at least two or three weeks.” 

Relief crashed through him. Someone would help him. It was going to be alright. He could handle the staring. This was for graduation. Dean Winchester, you are saved. “Hey, thanks man, you’re really saving my bacon here. It’ll also have to be after practice, though, so at five good? And do I pay you…?” That would be difficult, but he’d figure it out.  
“It’s on the house,” replied the other boy in a much drier tone than expected. “Monday afternoon, then. Bring your book and a notebook. And notecards. Depending on how much you need to know, I may give you pop quizzes to test your knowledge.”

Dean nearly didn’t hold back his groan. Right. Schoolwork. The actual business of studying would be grueling. And a smart kid like Cas? Probably a slavedriver who’d demand homework. 

“Monday afternoon. And thanks.”

“It is no problem, Dean. Have a good weekend.”

“You too. See ya.”

“Good bye.”

Sweet. He’d have a tutoring session with the weird kid. He was going to be okay. 

Dean found Sam on the couch, watching some stupid sci-fi movie and groaning about it, so it was only natural to join him. 

***

Castiel canceled the call shortly after Dean hung up and sighed. Dean Winchester had better be grateful for this. He returned to his seat at the dinner table, right next to Anna and Michael, and apologized. “Please forgive my interruption. I was scheduling a tutoring session with a boy in my history class.”  
Uncle Zachariah paused mid-chew, and narrowed his eyes. He sat at the head of the table, where usually Castiel’s father would be sitting, and swallowed his food. “Oh? Which boy is this?”

“Dean Winchester. He is a football player.” That seemed sad, that that was all he knew of him, but Castiel did not, as a rule, talk to people he didn’t know.

“I see. When will you be tutoring him?”

“Mondays and Wednesdays, at the school library.” Castiel looked at his plate. The rule was that when you were being spoken to, or lectured, or speaking, you were not allowed to eat your food. This rule was broken when Gabriel came home to watch over Castiel and Anna, but with Zachariah, it was written in stone. “Mr. Shurley offered to write me a letter of recommendation if Dean Winchester passes,” he offered, knowing that that, at least, would impress his uncle. 

“Hm.” He stared at Castiel. “Make sure you take nothing away from that kid. If he’s failing history, who knows what else he’s failing. Don’t take any bad habits from him.”

“Yes, sir.” He nodded and picked up his fork. Silence reigned once more, apart from the clicking of knives and forks. Beside him, Michael sighed nearly silently—probably still thinking about work—and across from him, Anna gave him a quick smile. 

At the Novak household, silence was golden.


	2. Until Somebody Needs to Study

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel experience their first tutoring session together, and the results do not turn out as either had hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I'm so sorry about all the fuss I'm still trying to understand AO3 and aaaaah I'm sorry but look! Fluff! Good, bubbly-sensation, tingly-in-my-toes fluff!

Monday dragged on as usual for Dean. In the classes he liked, he was doing just fine, but math and English? Torture. Pure and utter hell, equations and metaphors and theories dragging him down. 

But he acted the same way he did- ignored the sinking, drowning feel that he was fucking up left and right, and laughed and hung out with friends, and talked about last Saturday night, where he and Lisa left Alastair's party on Saturday together, and managed to sneak home just before dawn on Sunday. All he would mention about her was that she was _really flexible_.

At lunch, Dean stole food from Gordon's plate when he wasn't looking and laughed along with Al's jokes, now discussing the new set of available chicks (the girls who got hot, or broke up with their boyfriends, or whatever), when Lisa Braden, cheerleader and increbily hot partgirl, sat down next to him, back facing the table as she grinned up. She arched up in a way that pressed her boobs to his arm. "Hey Dean," she began, voice low. 

"Hey, Lisa." Dean tried not to blush, but all of the football team was now making catcalls. He fought to ignore them and grinned- his best one, his 'come and get me, girl' smile that had so many other girls giggling. 

But Lisa didn't giggle. She _purred_.

"So, I liked hanging out with you at the party." She leaned in and whispered, warming his ear. "Especially after the party. I'd love to do that again, sometime." 

Dean damn near stuttered out his agreement but managed to compose him. "Yeah, that'd be great. Uh, Friday night, after the game good? Go see a movie, get some food...?"

She winked, and stood up from the table, smooth as a cat. "Sounds perfect. See you then, hotshot."

Dean watched her and her amazing ass go, only to return to Earth to a bunch of suggestions about where the best make-out spots were, and how amazing it was that she paid him any more attention than just a night, and all the while Dean could only grin and wish the week were finished already. 

This completely destroyed Dean's concentration for the rest of the afternoon (and he kept having to think about old ladies, or the underside of Bobby's beard), so by time History rolled around, he only remembered his agreement with Castiel the moment he saw him.

Shit. Of course. Tutoring. 

Castiel didn't even glance around the classroom when he walked in, just went to his usual seat in front of the class, at the center. He pushed his abnormally large trenchcoat off his shoulder and draped it over the back of his chair, revealing a plain white collared shirt and an emerald sweater vest. Dean had a natural disgust for sweater vests, but somehow it did not look... 100% terrible on him. He could see it being, you know, sorta neat-looking. But the trenchcoat he wore everywhere made him look awkward and ruffled and lumpy, like a baby bird. Combined with that and his wild hair, he looked like he was always in a state of disarray, even though everything else about him was settled perfectly. 

Dean didn't know much about him, except that he never talked to anyone outside of his Super Nerdy friends. And it was rumored that he was already accepted into Harvard. Early, early admission, maybe? The brilliant asshole. 

He wondered idly, as Shurley droned on about JFK, whether or not he'd ever seen him having any sort of fun. Had he ever seen him at a party? Did he flirt with one of the nerdy girls? Did he have a girlfriend? 

History went by so slowly that Dean began to drift off and daydream about his upcoming Friday night. Lisa had been hot as hell, and he definitely wouldn't mind hooking up with her again.

The bell finally rang, and Dean rushed out, eagar to get to practice, when somebody tugged his arm unexpectedly. He shoved back immediately, going into the kill-or-be-killed mindset of someone in a busy hallway, only to see a pair of shocked blueblue _blue_ , widening and narrowing. The chapped lips tightened and pursed. 

"Oh, uh, hey Cas. Sorry bout that," said Dean, gulping. His heart was beating hard- suprise, probably.

"It is of no consequence," replied Cas frostily. He stood against the grey lockers, shoulders stiff, looking as though he didn't belong here at all. Maybe he didn't- maybe he was an alien. "I wished to remind you of our tutoring appointment." 

"Oh! Right." Dean had almost forgotten. Okay, okay, had completely forgotten over the course of an hour spent thinking about Lisa. "At 5, right?"

"Meeting at five would be ideal. I will be in the library. Please bring your textbook and a notebook." 

"Right. See ya then, Cas." 

Cas looked confused for a moment but shrugged and walked off. Dean watched him go, still seeing those shoulders, straight and tense. 

Poor guy. Some people just weren't good with social interactions. 

***

Castiel had nearly finished his homework when Dean strode in the library, looking a little worn and apprehensive, but cocky in a way that highlighted his natural ease. He grinned at the librarian, and winked at the girls in one of the aisles, and finally found Castiel, sitting in the back of the library, isolated and quiet. He nodded as Dean approached, thanking God that his sister had no more than a passing interest in him. 

Anna, who was a year younger than Castiel but years ahead of him on the social scale, laughed when he had asked about him, seated on her bed on Sunday night. She had laughed when he informed her of the situation. "He's a huge flirt," she explained, smile curling up a little. "I've known a few girls who've hooked up with him- hooked up as in having sex, Castiel- and they always try to get him to go long-term with them. Longer than a few days, I mean. They all get shot down." 

"I know what hooked up means," he had argued. He wasn't actually quite sure. 

She had twitched her nose then, displaying some displeasure. "Anyways. Not my type. I don't know much about him- he's got a brother, in middle school, and he and his dad work at the garage out past town. I'm unsure about his mother- he's never said anything that I've heard." She had shrugged, but then grinned. "I hear his latest hookup was with Lisa Braeden." 

"Who?" The name was distantly familiar. 

"Cheerleader. Tall? Dark hair? Pretty?" 

Castiel had shrugged. He hadn't exactly paid attention to cheerleaders before. They were not his type, he had discovered. 

So when Dean walked up, with a nonchalant "Hey, Cas," Castiel wasn't sure what to think. He blinked, saying nothing, because his heart was beating rapidly now, which plummeted him into a confused whirlwind of thoughts and emotions and what in the _world_

"Dude. The staring? It's gotta stop," cajoled Dean as he sat down. 

"My apologies," replied Castiel, immediately, smoothly, and it paved the way for the other words. "Please get out a pencil or a pen. I have made a small quiz for you, to allow me to know what you needed to work on." He was moderately proud of it- he'd worked on it over the weekend, during his reading time. 

Dean groaned and leaned forward. "Really? A quiz?" 

"Yes Dean. A quiz. I need to be able to tell which areas you need the most help on to furnish your knowledge in order for you to pass this quarter."

"But a quiz? Can't you just," he motioned in the air, hand waving as though conjuring magical 100% test scores. "figure out a study guide, give me a cheat code, something so I pass?" 

"I do not condone cheating, Dean. I believe this way will assist you better than any other course of action." 

Dean grumbled but scoured through his bag. He returned with a dulled pencil and glowered at the test that Castiel had placed in front of him. The quiz was twenty questions long, and in all honesty, it was a little harder than Mr. Shurley's quizzes. Not that that was saying much- he tended to have easy multiple choice questions. Castiel had left the answer open-ended, since it was more likely for Dean to write down what he knew rather than have his choices made for him. It would be a challenge, but if Dean wished to pass, he was going to need a little pushing.

Castiel watched Dean's head, bent over the sheet of paper, and took a deep breath. He was going to be okay. Dean was doing what he had asked.

The football player was an enigma- working at a garage, big brother, football player and actually willing to ask for help? In a manner of speaking? 

Dean now looked up, and Castiel found himself staring at those brilliant eyes, not even quite paying attention to anything else. How could those eyes be _real_? "Dude. Have you been staring at me this whole time?"

"I apologize, I was lost in my thoughts. Have you finished?"

"Yeah- well, I didn't know alot, so I left some blank." 

"I would have accepted guesses as well." Castiel checked his answers to the key and barely suppressed a cluck. "Well. We'll have a lot to work on, then."

Dean groaned and slouched in his seat, an expression that would be called petulant on a child but with Dean it was downright rude. "Great." Castiel ignored it. 

"It's not overwhelming, though; we will just need to start soon and go through it quickly, and hard." He tucked the quiz in a folder and reached for his textbook, making sure to align it in a perfectly straight angle. "Now. Turn to page 394, and we'll start there."

Dean shuggled in his bag again, and threw a bent book on the table. Castiel winced at the sound and appearance. He flipped to the page and looked up expectantly. "Should I start reading, or...?"

"Not at all. You have a notebook with you?" It took a while for him to secure the notebook, and Castiel noticed (from an aesthetic standpoint, of course) how very nice his hands looked. "Now. You mentioned that you don't quite understand the reasons or the dates. Mr. Shurley isn't interested in dates as much as he's interested in timelines, so I'll start at June, 1914- write this down, Dean."

***

Singlehandedly, Castiel had managed to explain what the major reasons were for World War 1, and in a way that made even Dean understand it. Essentially, it was just people, just stories about how people live and react and understood their own world. Castiel had an excellent storytelling voice, too. And Dean had, surprising himself, participated: asked questions, made jokes that made Castiel smile before agreeing, and anything that he looked even slightly confused at, Castiel made it understandable. It was incredible. When 5 rolled around, and the were finally shooed out of the library, Dean had felt as though he'd learned more about history than he ever did with Mr. Shurley. And he appreciated it. Sincerely. He stood up and gathered his things, glancing at Castiel, who was doing the same, as well as shrugging on his big coat. "Hey man, that was great- truly awesome. Learned lots." 

Cas smiled, just a little bit. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I recommend that we meet again on Wednesday. And you should do questions 1 through 10 on chapter 19. I would suggest making a list of important-"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, important words, right?"

_"Dean Winchester."_

Dean froze, hand still holding a pen, and stared at the other boy. Castiel, who was maybe skinnier than him but certainly not smaller, glowered at him. Even though he just stood there, arms straight at his sides, glaring, Dean felt power exude from him- a still anger, like the supercharged tension before a storm.

Dean was no wimp, but damn if he wasn't a little freaked.

"Dean, I don't believe you understood how grave this truly is. Mr. Shurley has informed me of your current grade and if I may remind you, the team requires nothing less than a 2.5 GPA. And you are teetering dangerously close to failing, Dean. You should not merely 'blow this off.'" Awkwardly, his hands jerked up to make those ridiculous air quotes, marking each syllable with a hard scrape of the air. Dean felt the laughter bubble up inside his stomach, but the harshness of Castiel's manner quelled it. "If you wish to increase your grade to pass this course, you will need to _listen to me >." He glared at him, blueblue eyes narrowed, and his bony shoulders were almost shaking. He turned around, settled his chair perfectly, and walked away._

"Hey- hey, wait man, wait." The other boy paused as Dean caught up. "I'm sorry. I'm... I just really need this, okay? I'm just... an ass. I'm sorry. I'll take it seriously."

Castiel looked like his feathers had been ruffled, but finally he replied, "You're forgiven, Dean," and left without another word.

Out in the parking lot, Dean tried his hardest to relieve the cramped feeling in his gut. He truly fucked everything up, didn't he? With Dad, with his grades, and not with Castiel, who was only trying to help him, and for free, too. Maybe he could just cut his losses, try harder in class, but look how far he's come on his own, and even with just one session, Dean felt as though he could handle Mr. Shurley's class. 

Dean shoved away the thoughts and put on some Zepellin, nodding his head to the beat, and drove off. 

Maybe it was something about his eyes. There was something _staying_ about Castiel, surrounded by so much energy but completely calm. 

He drove past a boy in a tan trenchcoat, and for a moment or two, felt his heart leap- maybe he could get Cas to smile again, maybe make it better, easier- but then he chickened out when he saw the black hair. He swore at himself for being such a girl and drive off _fast._

***

On Tuesday, Castiel was ready to give up on Dean, and even had Uriel validate his surrender. 

On Wednesday morning, he began ten texts to Dean, telling him to forget about it, he wouldn't be able to tutor him any more, but none made it past the drafting stage. 

Wednesday afternoon, Castiel was sitting in the library, anxiously watching the clock and hating that he was. He felt a low, bubbling ball of guilt settle in his stomach, that had persisted since his yelling at Dean, and had only slightly increased in tension every time he thought about it. He shouldn't have yelled. He should have yelled more. He should not apologize. He should apologize immediately. 

Castiel wasn't sure how he managed it, but when Dean walked in he appeared calm and collected. Dean's jaw was clenched, and he was pulled more into himself- elbows close in, and a hand fiddling with his keys. 

Wednesday afternoon, Castiel was sitting in the library, anxiously watching the clock and hating that he was. He felt a low, bubbling ball of guilt settle in his stomach, that had persisted since his yelling at Dean, and had only slightly increased in tension every time he thought about it. He shouldn't have yelled. He should have yelled more. He should not apologize. He should apologize immediately. 

Castiel wasn't sure how he managed it, but when Dean walked in he appeared calm and collected. Dean's jaw was clenched, and he was pulled more into himself- elbows close in, and a hand fiddling with his keys. He saw Castiel, and tensed further, but stepped forward. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean." _Be cool, Castiel, be cool._

"So, look, I'm sorry, alright?" He ran a hand with agitation through his hair and sighed, everything about him rough and harsh. "I was an ass. Okay? I'm sorry. I'd appreciate it if you kept tutoring me, but I don't... I'm not gonna... it's okay. If you don't."

"Yes," replied Castiel, too, too quickly ( _You're such an idiot, slow down!_ )and added, "Yes, of course I'll still tutor you. If you want, of course. It's not going to be easy, though."

”Oh, yeah, right, right.” Dean sank down to a chair opposite him, relieved. 

Castiel nodded to his book. “Please open to page 409, and we’ll begin.” 

It was surprisingly easy to tutor Dean. He wasn’t even sure he was truly mad when he interrupted, because the questions that the other boy posed were… insightful. And the little quips he made only showed how smart he truly was. 

At five, Castiel had Dean write down his homework (“It’s good to keep a planner, Dean.” “Nah, nah, I’ve got it all in my head.”) before they walked out together in companionable silence. He was perfectly comfortable across the table, teaching, but walking, shoulder to shoulder, having to find something interesting to say… there was nothing interesting to say. Nothing at all. He wasn’t interesting in the least- he was a smart kid who was good with grades. And even that wasn’t interesting. Not to someone like Dean Winchester. He-

“So, you live around here all your life?”

“Yes,” he replied, startled out of his cyclonic thoughts. “I have. It’s a quiet town.”

“That it is. But the parties are nice, and the girls… man. Some nice ladies here.” 

Castiel shrugged. “I don’t attend parties.” Shoot, was he not supposed to say that? He already was uncool but maybe he wasn’t supposed to let him know? 

Dean glanced at him and smirked. “Eh, not that cool, I guess. Much better to stay inside and do homework.”

He felt vaguely like vomiting. Was he honestly mocking him? No wonder he didn’t talk to people all the time, he couldn’t handle this, he-“

Dean nudged him. “Dude. It’s fine. I’m sure I’d be a better student if I did the same. Just stayed inside.”

Castiel nodded but looked for the nearest exit from him. It was stupid. _This_ was stupid. He shouldn’t be trying to be friends with him. He was tutoring him.

“Lawrence is a much nicer town than I remember, though.” He paused and glanced at Castiel, green eyes curiously examining him. He might have blushed if he hadn’t have looked away almost immediately. “I was born here, actually. We left when I was four.” 

He might have grown up here? “I’m sorry to say it’s still not exciting.” 

Dean made a noncommittal noise and opened the door for Castiel, leading to the bright day outside. He blinked in the sunlight, and squinted until he could see again. “Well, have a good day, Dean.” 

He began to walk off, both feeling oddly bereft of his quasi-companionship but also relieved that he wouldn’t have to perform niceties anymore, when Dean called out, “Hey, wait. Wait!” Castiel turned around to see Dean, looking nearly like a Grecian god might envy, bright afternoon sunshine bringing his hair, his face, his smile to golden life. “Do you need a ride? You’re not walking, are you?”

“I don’t live too far, Dean, I can walk.” Oh God, what was that unsettling feeling? He needed to leave, now, not be trapped in a car with the beautiful (dammit!) boy. 

“How far?”

“A few blocks. Dean, I assure you, I am perfectly...”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Dude. You’re helping me pass history. I’m pretty sure I can drive you. Come on.” 

Despite himself, Castiel found himself walking forward until he was following him, just a step or two behind him. Dean glanced back and slowed down, keeping at his speed, but he was also laughing. “Cas I’m not gonna hurt ya. I promise I’ll keep my hands very nicely and politely on the car at all times.” 

“I’m not afraid of you, Dean,” he replied, but the chills running through him had nothing to do with fear. Was… was that a flirtation?

“You should be, I’m a lean, mean, fighting machine,” he said with something that wasn’t quite a grin but something wilder, before he laughed and nudged him, just slightly, towards a classic car that Castiel was fairly sure was considered a ‘muscle car.’ Even if he wasn’t the most _avid_ car person in the world, he understood that it was something of a thing of beauty. He could definitely see it in the way Dean smiled about it (her, as he called it, as he was now pointing out the different specifications of the vehicle). He unlocked the door from inside, leaning over to do it, and Castiel slid in, keeping himself as neatly packaged as possible, careful not to accidentally touch something. Surreptitiously, he breathed in the smell of the Impaled. (Was that the name of the car? Or was it Impaler?) It was concentrated Dean and sweat and sunshine and hot metal and old leather. It felt warm and comforting, despite the questionable appearance and rumors of people who owned these cars, and Castiel felt as though he could nap in the car. 

Something burned low in his stomach, he realized, and felt even worse when he understood its cause. 

Dean started the car and grinned, raising his eyebrows in a companionable “look what my baby can do, isn’t she awesome” manner. “Listen to her purr.”

He nodded and stared out the window, trying to understand all of the emotions going on. What is happening? It wasn’t quite like this with Balthazar. Then, it had been soft and gentle but a terrible letdown. This felt like flames licking his veins. “Sounds nice.”

“Sounds nice? You don’t say that another man’s car ‘sounds nice.’ You say something like, ‘oh, man, I could get my engine revved all day to a sound like that.’”

“I’m… unsure if that is something that should be said. Ever.” 

“Yeah, maybe. So,” he said, now driving out of the parking lot. “Where do you live?”

“Two blocks east.” He pointed as well, and tried not to clutch his fingers onto the leather seats beside him. “I… appreciate this.”

“No worries, man. Least I could do. Well- is there something I could do? I’m not big on letting debts grow on me.”

Castiel shook his head. “There is no debt, Dean, I have no need for favors.” 

Dean harrumphed, unconvinced, and slowed down in his neighborhood, where Castiel had lived for all of his life. “Whoa- nice place, here.” He bobbed his head and angled to see more of the grand houses that lined Maple Drive. “Very nice. Damn.” 

That Damn was not an angry Damn or even a sad Damn. It was an impressed Damn. And Castiel was not sure how he necessarily felt about it. “The house with the grand oak in the front is mine, Dean.” 

The car slowed down and Dean peered at it, very _very_ close to Castiel, making everything sort of buzz. “Whoa, man, nice house.” 

“Thank you. And thank you for the ride.” He attempted to escape the car but couldn’t. Instead, laughing, Dean leaned over and unhooked something, brushing up against his stomach, his coat, his arm. 

Their goodbyes were short but pleasantly so. Castiel trudged up to his house and, before he could even begin the scramble for the key, could only stare at the wooden door in front of him and attempt to steady his breath. _Oh no, oh no._


	3. Until Somebody Nearly Gives Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel finds himself deeper in his crush, but Dean is forced to give up tutoring lessons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not gonna lie, guys. This one hurt. It hurt to write, and it took me forever to write it, which is why it's late. I swear, there is fluff, but also domestic abuse and implied Dean/Lisa (those warnings aren't connected, by the way). And there is a lot more Castiel and Dean angst. I swear I'll have the next chapter up soon so I don't bum everyone out.

Friday afternoon found Castiel in his customary front-row-dead-center seat, looking up as people entered the doorway into History class, only realize that his breath was caught in his throat as Dean walked in, wearing his red and white letterman jacket and looking... 

When he passed by to get to his seat, Dean smiled at Castiel. "Heya Cas." 

"Hello, Dean," Castiel replied steadily, even though he felt himself fall faster into the rabbithole of fluffy feelings and bubbles lightly gurgling in his stomach. He moved to the back of the classroom, graceful even in the tangle of dishelved desks, and sank into his chair. Their eyes connected, and for a breathless moment they didn't look away, until Dean squinted at him and nodded his head at him, almost as if asking "What are you doing?"

Not having a good answer for that, Castiel retreated, eyes latched on the board. _That was idiotic._.

Castiel noticed Uriel passing by him and sitting in the chair next to him, which was unusual but not unknown. "So, the study sessions are going well, I guess? He hasn't..."

"He's a good student. I imagine we'll be caught up within a few weeks, before the quarter is over." It was perfectly logical but Castiel couldn't help but feel a little bereft with that knowledge. But that feeling of loss could only come with relief. Dean would continue with his life, and Castiel would go on too, and this awful, impossible _crush_ would end.

Uriel sounded unconvinced. "Well, don't blame yourself if he fails. Guys like that don't get too far."

Before Castiel could truly ponder this, argue on his behalf, Mr. Shurley began the lesson. "Right, so, last week we learned about..."

Throughout the lesson, Castiel glanced back at Dean. Instead of taking notes, Dean was staring off into space, leaning back in his chair and looking an interesting combination of bored and confused. Incredulous, Castiel waited until Mr. Shurley had taken a break because he had another idea for his novel and needed to write it down (telling them to read the rest of the chapter) and tucked his phone into his lap. 

***

From: Castiel the Tutor

To: Dean

Dean, you should be taking notes.

Dean jolted when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He risked a furtive glance at Mr. Shurley, typing away at his computer, before checking the phone. (1) New Text glared green on the front screen. He flipped it open, read it, and grinned- Cas was a regular rulebreaker, wasn't he? 

To Castiel the Tutor

I'm not there yet

From Castiel the Tutor

If you take notes, we will spend less time spent catching up, and more time spent studying for the final.

From Dean

Fine, whatev. I'd b stdying now if you didn't keep txting me. 

From Castiel

Take notes, Dean.

After Dean had skimmed through the chapter- yeah, yeah, something about Martin Luther King, Jr., but everyone sorta knew something about him- he sighed and glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes left, and then he would go straight to the locker room, then do warmups and get pumped up for tonight's game, and... was Cas going to the game? He thought of Cas cheering and jumping up and acting like one of those girls in the crowd and he smirked. He'd love to see him not so composed, if he was going to be honest. What _did_ Cas do on weekends? Does he do anything interesting? Again he wondered about his personal life. There was so little he actually knew about him. Dean would be tempted to shrug it off with anyone else, but he had never met someone who was nearly as intense and honest as he was.

The bell rang and Castiel was out of his chair before Dean could catch up. He lost him immediately in the after school rush. He sighed and continued onto the locker room, feeling a little like he had missed out on something. _Whatever, it was stupid._ Besides, there was Lisa after the game tonight, and that put a big ol' grin on his face.

***

Castiel rubbed his eyes again and stretched his back. His latest essay was up on the laptop screen, nearly halfway done, despite his frequently staring off into space. His thoughts were almost completely cluttered with Dean, which was unusual and destructive to his schoolwork. Usually, he was able to get through his work without doing that ridiculous sighing business featured in Anna's movies- he had even managed the SATs without even thinking about Balthezar once during the exam, let alone moon over him.

Thinking about Balthezar only made him sad. Castiel had thought that they might have had something last year, but instead Balthezar had began a romantic relationship with one of the soccer players, and told him that they were better off as friends. It had stung, but perhaps he was right, because now he wasn't sure if he had ever _been_ in love or if he was merely excited about finding another gay highschooler. 

But this. This was just another silly crush, albeit one he had felt more strongly about. It would be over soon, once Dean got his grades up, and he'd be free to be himself and not worry about doing something untoward.

Castiel padded to the kicthen to get a cup of tea. It was ten, and while his curfew was technically at eleven, he still flinched when he saw Uncle Zachariah sitting in the living room, reading. 

There was no reason to flinch. He had never done anything necessarily _wrong_ to him, or Anna, or Michael. Gabriel was hard to handle, but the separation was respectful, and when Zachariah called him, he often reminded him that he was more than welcome to come back at anytime. The reply was usually less than polite, but Gabriel would always come back eventually. But even though Uncle Zachariah had moved in to take care of the Novak children when Castiel's parents died, nearly eight years ago, he was still a little intimidating. As though, at any moment, he might-

"Good evening, Castiel. Getting a snack?" He looked over his novel. 

"Yes, sir," Castiel replied. "A cup of tea."

"Oh good. Excellent choice. And how is your homework doing?"

"All done. I was just working on the psychoanalytical essay about A Streetcar Named Desire. It is due in two weeks."

"Good, good." Zachariah returned to his book. "Goodnight, Castiel."

Castiel echoed the sentiment and continued on to the kitchen, feeling as though a cup of chamomile would help calm his nerves. 

When he returned, hot mug of tea held carefully, his phone buzzed. Puzzled, he set the cup down on a coaster, a considerable distance from his laptop, and checked the screen. 

(1) New Message from: Dean Winchester. 

Almost not breathing, he slid open the lockscreen and read the text. 

From: Dean Winchester

To: Castiel

Did you go 2 the game 2night?

The game? What game? 

From: Castiel

To: Dean Winchester

No, I wasn't aware of a game. Did the game turn out successfully?

From: Dean Winchester

To: Castiel

Yeah we won. You shoulda come. We were awesome.

Before Castiel could respond, his phone buzzed again in his hand. 

From: Dean Winchester

To: Castiel

Gotta go, talk later?

From: Castiel 

To: Dean Winchester 

We will talk later, Dean.

Just a crush, Castiel. Nothing more. Straight as an arrow. Straight and hooking up (which means sex) with most of the cheerleading squad.

Castiel siped his tea and leaned back on his chair. It was strictly platonic. Nothing going on at all. He would have acted the same if he was texting Gabriel or Uriel. 

But then again, with Gabriel, he certainly didn't feel like there were butterflies gently nudging the inner lining of his stomach. Or keep checking his phone for a new message. Or fall asleep, excited about talking later.

No, no, they were strictly platonic.

The thought didn't stop him from falling asleep smiling. 

***

Dean watched as Lisa slid into his car, cheerfully and sexily and _oh man_. "Alright, let's go!" She cheered in her seat, grinning at him. 

They had just had dinner at Ellen's Diner, where a lot of other players and their girlfriends had gone, until everyone else had gone, probably to celebrate the win with 'private time.' Just like Dean and Lisa were about to do, right now. 

Lisa... Lisa was amazing. Fun and bright and sexy and strong. Everyone had heard about what happened when her teacher called her a slut, and why she was suspended for a week. She was called Mama Bear on the squad, for good reason. Dean was actually a little afraid for the guys dating the other cheerleaders, because she would stop at nothing to protect them.

Along the way to Lover’s Lane (which sounded almost as lame as a bad 90s cartoon, but wasn’t half bad), Lisa kept her hand on his knee as they discussed the game. That was another thing about Lisa- she knew and _liked_ football. It wasn’t hard to see why everyone was in love with her.

The L word burned in his stomach as he glanced at her. She was hot, and great, but… there was something that he couldn’t connect with. 

Whatever, not his worry tonight. Right now he was going to Lover’s Lane with the prettiest cheerleader, and things were alright.

Dean got home just before midnight, sweaty and sticky but feeling _very_ nice. There hadn’t been any complaints on Lisa’s side either, and when he dropped her off at her house, she had winked and told him that he was more than welcome to stop by sometime. That only gave Dean an uncomfortable weight in his stomach, but he grinned, a corner of his mouth up high, and replied “Yeah, sometime. Night.”

Now, creeping up the stairs to their apartment, hearing every single creak as loud as elephant trumpets, he somehow managed to sneak in, take off his shoes, and place his gear by the ugly lamp, without getting caught.

It was the pulling off of his socks that got him caught. 

“Boy, where have you been all night?” 

Chills ran down Dean’s back, as he turned to see John at the dining room table, looking eerily sober. He kept his hands on the table, palms flat, as though at any moment he might pounce. 

“I was out, sir. I left a message with Sam- didn’t he..?” He tried to keep himself from clasping his hands behind his back, shoulders straight and eyes forward, but John had drilled it into them too much. 

“Out? With who?”

“Some guys on the team.” The _sir_ on his lips stuttered to a halt, but just barely. 

“Any girls?”

Dean licked his lips, feeling them dry almost instantly. “A few.” He still tasted Lisa. 

John nodded, eyes half-shut with heavy lids, and after a few seconds he grinned, one side pulling up higher. “There’s my boy. She pretty?”

“Oh, yes, sir,” Dean replied, relaxing, just a little bit, in his pose. 

“Do I have to do that whole weepy parent shit about the dangers of sex and condoms and that shit?”

“No sir, I think I’ve got the basics down.” 

John chuckled and straightened out, but his smile didn’t stay for long. “Dean, Bobby tells me that you asked for less days- why?”

_Shit._ “I’m getting help from a tutor- a guy from school, he’s a genius-“

“Help? Why do you need help?”

Dean’s stomach twisted, hearing the acid more than the question itself. “I… I, uh, needed help in History, because-“

“Because you’re about to be kicked off of the team?” John rose, shaking a little, and Dean noticed, cold dripping in his veins, that he _had_ been drinking, something a hell of a lot meaner. 

“Wa- what?”

“Yeah, your coach called me, just before the game. At work.” He took another step towards Dean. Dean’s stomach was now curdling everything inside, but he fought to stand still and face his father. “I had to get the news that my son was about to be _kicked off the team_.” John was now a foot from him. His voice lowered, but each syllable was as clear as ever. “At. Work.”

Stand up for himself? Or let it happen? Dean hung his head, hoping that looking sorry would appear to _be_ sorry. “Sorry, Dad, I’m doing better.” 

“I had to be called, at _work_ , to be told that my son was skipping work _and_ failing all of his classes.” 

“I wasn’t skipping work, I told Bobby-“

“Did I give you permission to talk back, boy?” John grabbed his arms, and it took everything in Dean to not shove him back. _Don’t fight, don’t fight, you’ll just make it worse_

John’s grip on his upperarms tightened cruelly, and he shook Dean, once, twice, making him jar his chin against his chest. He gasped, feeling the tears start. John was saying “Don’t you ever make your teachers call me again, or I swear to God, Dean” and he nodded weakly, repeatedly, until he looked up at his dad’s face. He looked tired, and worn, and Dean felt even worse. His dad was just trying to do the best that he could do. 

John let go of his arms and took a few steps back, almost in a shuffle. He turned away before staring at him again. “Look, I don’t want to hear you’ve been kicked off the team. So pick up those grades, and you know what? I need you to be at work, too.”

Dean tried not to cry, but somehow he had bit his tongue, which _hurt_. “Work? I’ve… been going to work.”

”What about those two days, huh? You need to pick up more hours.” 

“But that’s impossible!”

The smack sounded worse than it hurt, but it still created a ringing somewhere lodged in between his eyes. “Don’t talk back. Guess you’ll just have to do better in school.” John moved off, towards the fridge, where a cold beer was undoubtedly waiting for him. “Get yourself cleaned up. You got practice tomorrow?” 

“No-o, sir.” Fuck, did he just whimper? Shit shit shit shit. 

John’s voice was clear, despite the walls blocking them. “Are you _crying_?”

”No sir, just… breathing.” _Well that was dumb._

Whether or not John believed him, Dean never found out. He took a quick shower, washing off the stickiness of the night’s fun (refusing to think about Lisa, she didn’t need to be part of this at all), and dressed in the dark. He slid into their shared bed, pushing Sam until he had enough room for himself, and stared up at the ceiling until he thought he had counted each and every way he was a terrible excuse for a person, and fell asleep.

True to his word, Dean didn’t have practice that morning, so he drove off to Bobby’s house before John woke up. Sam was going to Jessica’s house again to work on the project, so he tagged along, despite it being three hours too early for anything. They drove around town until Dean finally stopped at a McDonald’s. They ate their breakfast on the trunk of the car, even though it would probably be fucked up by their sneakers or whatever, but Dean found he couldn’t really care. Sam was silent, too, until he dipped another one of those French toast sticks into the maple syrup tub. “Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean snorted. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why do you ask, I don’t seem peachy to you?”

”Well, yes. I mean- Dad was mad at you last night. And you seemed to be… you were crying.” 

”Shut up I wasn’t.” _Shit,_ he thought, as he turned to sock Sam in the arm, only to see that he was flinching, already. _Fuck everything up, don’t you, Dean._ “Sam, I’m sorry- I’m… alright, fine, yeah, I cried.” He made a face at Sam, but he was too busy giving him sympathetic puppy-eyes to smile. “I just… Dad wants me to take on the family name, you know? Football. Cars.”

There was an unspoken “but…” hanging there, intangible to everyone but the Winchester boys, sitting on the back of the car in a McD’s parking lot at 7 in the morning. 

Sam, however, needed to make it spoken. “But you don’t want to.” 

”I _do_ want to, though. I _do_. But I…” He stared at his brother’s unevenly tied shoelace. “Sammy, I don’t know what I’m doing. With anything. There’s… I ain’t the brightest kid. I don’t have-“

”Yes you _are_ smart, Dean! You’re… you’re going to do great things, and _go_ places! I mean…”

Even if he wasn’t making sense (or saying much of anything), Dean knew he meant well, so he nudged him, not knowing what to say and probably not being able to say it either. 

Sam nudged him back, but they fell back into silence. Sam tried to clean his fingers with the McDonald’s napkins, and Dean just sat back and thought, letting those damning thoughts creep in again. He was stupid. He wouldn’t get anywhere. Even Sam knew it- Sam knew he couldn’t do anything right, so he could only tell him that he’ll _go places_.

”So, what are you going to do about your tutor?”

”Who, Castiel?" He’d explained the situation to both Bobby and Sam, Sunday night, when they had gone over to dinner. John had gone out for more beer, and Dean had taken the opportunity to tell them then. It was supposed to be easier, that way. “I’ll call him, tell him it’s off. I think I can straighten out my classes too.” Maybe. He hoped so, at least. “It’ll be fine, Sam. I’ll figure it out.”

Sam shrugged and drink from his coffee cup, even though he claimed he hated it. “Why don’t you call him?”

”It’s eight in the morning, people who know what’s good for them are asleep.” Truth was, he didn’t know how to tell him. Castiel probably wouldn’t mind so much, he wasn’t the best student, but Dean had felt… well, he had felt it was possible, with him tutoring him. Graduation, staying on the football team, the whole thing felt tangible, only barely out of his reach.

Sam shrugged. “Well, you should call him soon. Before you stand him up at the library.”

Dean had no idea what to do. Not really. Everything seemed that much harder, and he wasn’t sure he would make anyone proud of him. He wasn’t particularly proud of himself, either. He was a dumb jock who was going to live here forever and die without having _done_ anything.

Still. It was rough to leave the guy hanging if he didn’t have to be. 

*** 

(1) New Message from: Dean Winchester 

Castiel jumped as if zapped by the buzzing on his phone, sitting snugly in his pajama bottom’s pocket, but when he opened the lockscreen he couldn’t help but bite his lip, trying to hide a smile. He glanced up at Zachariah, who looked at him with some interest. “Are you getting texts from someone, Castiel?” 

”Yes, a friend from school. May I answer it?” 

”I’m sure it can wait,” Zachariah replied, and returned to his own plate. 

Castiel finished the remainder of his eggs and rushed upstairs, making sure to close the door firmly behind him before he glanced at his clock. 8:15. He wouldn’t have expected Dean to be an early riser. He slid open the lockscreen and found the text. 

From: Dean Winchester 

To: Castiel 

Hey man I think I’m gonna have 2 quit tutor session. Srry.

What?

_What??_

Was it something he had done? What was it? He had thought he was doing the right thing, was he too burdensome? Did he nag too much at Dean? Was he not “cool” enough?

With that pleasant warmth that was gathering in his belly now being replaced by something cold and slick and slimy, he dialed the number with shaky fingers. _Was I too obvious? Does he suspect?_

The call was answered within a few short rings, by a surprised-sounding Dean. “Uh, hey Cas.”

There were multitudes of sounds in the background, including the sounds of a motor. His car? “Dean, are you driving while talking on the phone?” 

”Dude, you called me. Hold up, let me pull over.” 

_Crap._ He didn’t mean to start like that. But Dean returned to the phone soon enough, the motor sound dulled. “Hey Cas. Um. About the tutoring thing- I dunno if I can do it anymore.” 

Castiel did not put much faith into his sister’s “romcoms” but he now understood why they featured women (and some men) sinking to the floor. He sat on his bed instead, and scooted until he could lean on the wall. “Why?” He hoped that it did not seem too brusque, but it encompassed so many things he wasn’t sure he could say to Dean.

”My dad found out that I was taking off from work to study with you. And I… we need the money, Cas. Not everyone has a big ole house.”

The bitterness coming from Dean’s voice rolled into him and made him feel nauseous. “Dean, I-“ but there was nothing to say to that. He stared at his feet and swallowed past his own worries. “Dean, I think it’s a mistake to just quit. I’m not letting you quit and give up.”

”I’m not giving, Cas!”

”Sounds like you’re giving up, Dean. I-“ he paused, and released the breath, letting the tension roll out. “What freetime do you have?”

”What?”

”Do you have any freetime, between practice and work?”

”Uh, Sundays and evenings, uh, but-“

”Where would you like to meet up to study?”

”Cas, look I appreciate it man, but-“

”Shut up, Dean. I’m going to help you pass this class.” Castiel was shaking, but he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t stop because he was afraid, so afraid that Dean would fail or hate him or never talk to him again. “Sunday? Do you want to meet up at the town library or is there somewhere else you’d like to meet?

”Castiel, I swear to God, shut up! I can’t- you’ve- I’m just going to fail, alright? It’ll be okay, I can just-“

“You wanna fail? _Fine._ But I know you can do so much better than that, and it honestly pisses me the fuck off that you’re not even trying. So, fuck you Dean, I’m not letting that happen.” Oh God did he just swear? Twice? He glanced at his door, as though expecting Uncle Zachariah to march in and correct him.

The line was silent, and Castiel felt the old constricted feelings come back. He was shivering now, so much so that his bed was, too, but all he could hear were his own thoughts going _You’re an ass you’re an idiot no wonder no one likes you no one even talks to you except for Uriel that’s just pity there and he’s just too good for you and he’s going to call you a homo freak and spread it around the school that you like dick and what will Anna do and what about Michael they’d leave you in a heartbeat you’re a **terrible excuse for a human being**_ -

”I work all day today, but I’ll be off by seven tonight. I’m… I’m sorry, Cas. I don’t want to fail.” Dean’s voice got quiet, and tiny, and if he were in any way more sociable he would know what to say besides “it’s alright.”

”I apologize, Dean. That was… uncalled for. Seven sounds like a good time, although the library will be closed then.”

”We can go to Ellen’s Diner, she has a few booths in the back that are good for studying.”

”Right. I will meet you there.”

They said their goodbyes and Castiel hung up, put his phone down, and put on calming ocean sounds from his laptop, and let himself be curled up in a ball until he felt less like throwing up. It was going to be alright. They would figure it out. Dean didn't hate him. He wasn't going to fail Dean.


	4. Until Somebody Plans Their Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean is about to quit everything, but luckily, Bobby and Cas pull him back on course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UGH I'm so sorry I was like "oh I'll have this done before the season finale so we can cry and then read this and be happy again but UGH I'm a lazy butt. Also, enjoy. THERE BE FLUFF.

Dean was distracted. The third time he knocked over his tool kit, scattering bolts and sockets everwhichway, Bobby called him up to his too-warm office. It was cluttered and disorganized and smelled like whiskey and dust. Naturally, Bobby fit right in place here. Dean walked in, and Bobby closed the door. “Sit down, Dean, I ain’t gonna yell at you.” He sounded tired and worn out, and to his frayed nerves, he was 95% sure he was going to be fired. But Bobby didn’t hide behind words to say what he meant. He never had. 

Bobby leaned back, perched on the edge of his desk. “Dean, just what is goin on with you? I ain’t seen ya this jumpy since I took you to see that one scary movie… what was it? Supernatural activity or something?” 

”I’m… there’s just a lot of… it’s fine, sir.”

”Call me sir one more time and I swear to God boy I will shoot my waterguns at you until you call me Uncle. What’s going on, Dean. And don’t tell me it’s fine, nothing’s going on, because clearly something _is_.”

Dean gritted his teeth, staring at his feet, trying to think of something better than “nothing.” He sighed. “There’s just a lot going on, okay?” He finally blurted out. “Dad wants me to be on the team but wants me to work too, so I can’t keep up the tutoring thing, but I need the tutoring to _stay_ on the team, and I just don’t know what to do! Bobby, I _need_ this job, but I don’t…”

”Boy, listen to me.” Bobby’s voice was calm, which was such a change from his usual sarcasm and fuck-all attitude that Dean looked up. “Dean. I know you wanna make your daddy prouf, but he’s putting a shitton of pressure on you. Now just take a deep breath-“ Dean realized he was shuddering, and took a long, shaky breath- “and just think about it. What’s important, right now?”

Sammy. Money. School? His dad. “Sam.” He swallowed- damn it, when did his throat start hurting?

Bobby nodded, and was about to say something before Dean cut him off. “I need this job. Dad’s not gonna be able to take care of everything alone.”

”Right. So at least you got that figured out.” Seeing Dean hesitate, Bobby plunged forward. “Now boy, I know you’re a bright kid, but let me tell you something you’re too much of an idjit to get. Your education is damned important. There’s not much hope of a high school dropout in this world. And this boy, the one who wants to help? He’s a damned _angel_ for doing this. For nothing, too. Now if I were you, I’d pay attention to those things. Job. School. Football… look, boy, football’s great, and you’re great at it, but what does it give you, in the end?”

Dean closed his eyes and tried to breathe. “You’re saying I should quit the team?”

”I think you’re a moron for trying to do everything, and twenty-four hours a day is not enough for what you wanna do.”

”But-“ damn his sore throat and that telltale burn behind his eyes that he would deny in a heartbeat. “What about Dad?”

Dean didn’t realize how comforted he was by Bobby’s concerned expression until it shifted into something angrier. His beard twitched. “I’ll handle your father.”

There was a tense, silent moment before Dean hugged Bobby, arms tight around his shoulders. The other man froze for a second, but returned the hug, squeezing hard. They broke it apart the next moment, and Dean ducked into the tiny bathroom in Bobby’s house to stop the damned sniffles. 

He’d quit the team. Or try to work it out with school… but there were only four weeks left in the season, he’d never be able to go back. 

Sam. Sam had to be his biggest motivator. And Bobby. Dad… Dad probably wouldn’t even notice, he thought angrily, rubbing his face on his sleeve. 

Well. At least Cas would be happy. He’d probably give him a small smile, one of the most sincere ones he think he’d ever received. Dean smiled as he got back to work, thinking about how good it felt to get Cas to smile. And his swearing… that was great. Wonder if he could do it again?

***

Ellen’s Diner was interesting, to say the least. Castiel had eaten here once or twice with his parents, but that was so long ago. It still looked the same- red booths, sticky floors, sometimes someone would start yelling. It was the yelling that made him regret coming- he never knew why people needed to yell at things, at people, and it scared him. But he had to be brave for Dean. 

But the yelling part was reserved for the very back of the diner. For people with their families, or studying (since it was five blocks from the school), the quiet section was firmly up front, in the well-lit, wide-windowed area. Castiel had chosen the booth at the end, which had him watching the darkening sky and the cars driving past. He stared, and sighed, looking for a particular set of headlights. 

The rest of the day had been rough on Castiel, but he managed to force himself through his own studies, which in turn calmed him down. The regularity of his schedule _was_ calming, but he now needed a new schedule. How would they do this? Meet after work, before school, during lunch? Would people think that they were dating? Would Dean mind? Would Castiel? 

He groaned in his booth, off in the corner, as a pretty blonde approached him, took his order (“I’ll just have a soda, thank you”) and left.

It was fifteen minutes after seven, and Dean hadn’t shown up yet. Had he been stood up? How would he get Michael to come and get him again?

He was going to leave.

Maybe he’ll wait a few more minutes.

No sooner than he had picked up his trenchcoat and was about to scoot out of the booth when he saw a black car with a flat hood turn confidently in the parking lot. He couldn’t see who it was from his spot, but the moment the door swung open and the boy stood up, Castiel recognized him. And started shivering again. 

He watched as Dean walked up to the door, bell ringing cheerily, and he felt his throat tighten. _Oh…_ Dean’s hair was wet, plastered on his head, and his grey t-shirt was sticking to him in random places. He looked agitated, jaw clenched, as he looked around the booths. The pretty waitress smiled up at him, and pointed to Castiel in the end booth. He waved with his elbow on the table, trying his hardest to seem nonchalant. Dean walked over, smiling a little, but he seemed… nervous? “Hey, Castiel.”

”Hello Dean.” He smiled up at him, and prayed it wasn’t too forced. Or too broad.

Dean stood for a second or two, just fidgeting the end of his shirt. “I think I’m gonna quit the team.”

Castiel nearly choked. “What?”

”I still want the tutoring, Cas I just… look,” he exhaled roughly. “My little brother- Sam, he’s in ninth grade- he’s a smart kid. He’s gonna go onto college and med school or something, and my Dad… he’s not gonna- well, I need to be able to take care of him. For that, I need my diploma. So what do you say, Cas? Still gonna teach me?” He grinned, a corner lifting up, revealing a dimple. 

Was… was that a flirtation? “Of course.” Come on, Cas, flirt back, you can do it. “If you’ll have me.” His voice came out low, better than he expected. _Nice, you’ve got this._

Dean blinked, and to Castiel’s immense surprise and pleasure (and that _something else_ flaring in his stomach again), smiled and blushed. “Sure, buddy.” He slid into the booth opposite of him, and clasped his hands in front of him. “So. What’s the plan?”

The rest of the night moved in a blur of learning and hamburgers and light teasing, as Castiel explained the importance of different key people in World War 1, and its solution. After Castiel had explained Wilson’s 14 Points, and Dean took another notecard from the pile he had brought to scribble it down (“Hold on a minute, lemme get that down”), he sat back and reflected. A few years ago, Anna had forced him to watch a movie about a fallen star who glowed when she was truly happy. If he were a fallen star, he was positive he’d blind Dean with his radiance- especially when he smiled up at him like _that_.

They were able to start with the Great Depression before he got a call from Zachariah, asking him to come home. Dean was already up and out of the booth before the call ended, scooping up notecards and dangling his keys. “Come on, tutor, I’ll drive ya home.” Castiel didn’t argue. 

He settled himself into the passenger seat and fussed with the seatbelt, watching Dean’s hands as they turned the key, started the engine, and handled the gearshift into reverse. He felt himself growing hard- damn he had nice hands- and fought back the reminder that this was like the first five minutes of every porno he’d seen (and all of them usually had a line that generally went “Oh yeah, handle that stick”). He could do this, _just don’t make too much of an ass of yourself, you’ll do fine._

”So, got any plans for tomorrow?”

Castiel felt the same leap of kinetic energy rip through his core. He fought off another thought of porno lines (“plans to suck your dick” _no, shut up!_ ) and cleared his throat. “I will be attending church at nine, and afterwards I have homework to complete. And you?”

Dean smiled, posture easy and relaxed as he navigated the roads “I’ve got homework too, now, I guess. I’m…” He hesitated, and Castiel watched his Adam’s apple bob. Nervous? “It’s… not just History I’m not doing well in. I’m not doing so hot in English and Algebra as well. And…”

”And you want help.” Castiel said this matter-of-factly, but inside he felt like a slowly deflating balloon. He just wanted a study partner. A tutor. Did you really think this was anything more? “I’m proficient in Algebra. What is it in English that you’re learning now?”

”Julius Caesar. It’s stupid.” 

”Not at all. There are many motifs and cultural references within the text, that are still prevalent in current times. Which teacher do you have?”

”Mr. Henrikson. Dude hates me.”

”He’s… rough, yes. But I don’t think he hates you. I can help you with these classes, Dean.”

Dean pulled up to the curb in front of Castiel’s house, and he hesitated. “I’d like that. Thank you, Castiel.” 

_I’m not Cas anymore?_ “It’s of no consequence Dean. Would you like to meet tomorrow?”

”Nah, man, it’s cool. I dunno if I can take all that info in one go. Besides, it’s Sunday. Day of Rest, ya know! I take that one to heart.” 

”Oh- are you religious?”

”Not really- Bobby is. Sorta.” He glanced at Cas, and nodded. “Bobby’s my boss. Old family friend.”

There was an awful silence while Castiel tried to recover everything, and understand what had just happened. Dean, thankfully, broke it first. “So… you got a girlfriend? Someone I’m stealing all you time from?”

”No, I do not have a girlfriend. And you’re not stealing my time. I don’t mind spending it with you.”

They had arrived at the curb of Castiel’s house, but Cas didn’t move, only stared at Dean as a litany of curses sped through his thoughts. _Crap, what did I do? Was I too obvious? Fuck fuck fuck!_

Dean, instead, gave him a look that he couldn’t quite place- the terror of fucking everything up burned low in his stomach- but before Castiel could blow it off, leave, something, Dean chuckled. “I don’t mind spending my time with you either, Cas.” 

If anyone at all had asked him, he would have been lying if he said he didn’t go to bed listening to those words over and over, drifting off while imagining Dean beside him, whispering into his ear.

***

Before class on Monday, nervously fidgeting with his backpack strap, Dean knocked on Coach’s door and waited for the “Yeah, come in.” 

Coach Rufus Turner was a mean ole sonovagun. At least, that’s what he told them, the moment they tried out for the team. “There is no room for pansies on the team,” he had announced, pacing the lines of potential players. His coaching style hadn’t been much different. This morning he was sitting at his desk, drinking coffee and looking like he might punch someone who gave him notice that he was leaving. Still, no one called Dean a chicken. 

“I might have to quit the team, Coach.”

Coach Rufus glared at him. “Please tell me you’re kidding, Winchester, it’s too damn early for this.” 

Dean swallowed, but his throat was still dry. “No, sir, I’m not kidding. My grades…”

”They’re shit, yeah, but do you think they’re so tough to get back up? Winchester, we need you on our team. Quitting isn’t an option.” 

Dean Winchester has never been the smartest boy. Which is why he was about to argue with what some of his classmates had called the scariest teacher. “It is for me, sir.”

Coach Rufus sighed. “Winchester, don’t get too angry in the morning, it’s bad for your cholerstral. Sit down. Let’s talk this out.”

”No, sir, I’d rather stand.”

Coach rolled his eyes. “Up to you, but you’re not off the team yet. Do you want to be off the team or is there something else going on?”

Dean gritted his teeth. “I’ve got a job.” 

”And? This supposed to make you special?”

”And between mine and my dad’s paycheck we’re barely making it through as it is!” Dean shouted, and like a goddamn beaver’s home he suddenly couldn’t shut up. “And I’ve been getting tutoring after practice but if I cut back on my hours anymore we might not eat, and I’ve got to make sure my brother gets fed, and that we get the rent paid, and trying to figure out how to handle everything is _killing me_. I have to quit so I can work more _and_ get tutored but my Dad also wants me on the team so I don’t know _what_ to do!” 

_Fuck_ he just yelled at Coach. 

To his credit, Coach Rufus Turner did not yell or scream or, really, anything. He just stared at Dean, a shocked expression on his face, before he blinked. He blinked again. And sighed. “Well of course something else was going on. Sit down, Winchester.”

Dean sat. He was so screwed. 

”Look. As much as I can’t wait to tear you a new one on the track, I’m gonna tell you now, I get it. You’re stressed, and overworked, and not seeing a lot of choices. I get it. I’ve been there. But you got a lotta talent, and with a little hard work you can figure this out. You’re not at the Fail Point, Winchester, not yet, but you gotta put a lot more energy in your classes. I dunno what you’re gonna do about the tutoring thing, but you’ve got to figure something out. Because the way you’re playing, you might get a football scholarship. But only if you work hard.” He leaned back in his chair. “I guess what I’m saying is this- if you wanna quit the team, fine. But if you don’t, and you wanna try for a little longer to see where your grades go, you’re more than welcome. You’ve got a week to show some improvement, which should be enough time.” 

Dean nodded. He wasn’t sure how he felt about _anything_ anymore, but if he had a week left… “Thanks, Coach. Um. Sorry.” 

”No worries, Winchester. I’m surprised you haven’t yelled at me before. Sounds like you’re taking on a full load. Most people couldn’t do that, certainly not a teen. But you do that again, I’m gonna try my best to run you to the ground on the track.” And then he grinned like he was a demon or something. “Better see you at practice, Winchester.” 

”Right, Coach. See you.” He was so screwed. But he couldn’t think about that right now. He ducked into a bathroom stall and quickly texted Castiel. He’d want to know. 

From: Dean

To: Cas the Tutor

I can stay on the team. Have a week to bring up grades. 

His phone buzzed before he could get out of the bathroom, which made him look silly as he ducked right in again.

From: Cas the Tutor

To: Dean

Great! :-) You should speak with your teachers and request extra credit.

Was that a _smiley_?

He managed to convince Mr. Henrikson for extra credit and a second chance for his latest essay (due next week), and now he just had to wait until Tuesday to talk to Mrs. Mills about his Algebra homework, and by lunchtime, he was pretty sure he was going to be okay. Mostly. 

Dean sat by his usual group, but he kept looking out for Castiel. He wanted to tell him the good news, wanted to plan out what they could maybe work on this weekend- essay on Brutus’s motivations and motifs? Who was Brutus?- and finally he saw him. Dark hair, tan overcoat, sitting with some of the other nerds in the corner of the cafeteria, next to the windows. He wasn’t sure, but he didn’t see him smiling. Were those his friends? 

”Dude, who are you checking out?”

”No one, I wasn’t, I was just… looking for Lisa.”

Chuckles went around the table. “Oh, right. Lisa.” 

The demand for details went up, but Dean could not focus on them at all, and he shot them down. It’s impolite to talk about ladies that way, he said, even if he knew he sounded like a hypocrite. But honestly, the vividest memories of the past weekend was of his dad hitting him, crying on Bobby, and then the way Castiel… looked. There wasn’t a lot of room for Lisa.

No disrespect to her, though. She’d been amazing. And always was. But she… she didn’t matter in the list of things that mattered, truly. Arggh. He’d have to think of some way to say that to her that didn’t make him sound like an ass. 

History class couldn’t come soon enough. He needed to speak with Mr. Shurley about his grade, and to Castiel about studying time, since he was, apparently, going to practice tonight. He had to wait until the end of class (yes, yes, he took notes, shut up, and surprisingly he was able to kinda piece it together) but finally, the moment the bell rang, Dean rushed to Castiel, who looked up at him with surprise. “So, it looks like I’ll be on the team, um, for a week at least, but I need help on a lot more.” 

”Alright, Dean. What time should we meet?” Castiel smiled, looking up at him, and _fuck_ what was he about to say?

Dean shook his head to clear out the random fog. “Um, can we meet after work? Around 7?” 

”Eight would be a better time. Where will we meet?” 

Dean shrugged. “Make it up as we go along?”

Cas squinted at him, but smiled as he rolled his eyes. “Sure, Dean.”

Dean didn’t even really mind the running he was told to do, because that smile was… damn it, it was adorable. 

This is how it usually went, at least for a few weeks: Dean would pick Cas up at his house- yes, he’ll be back at home at a reasonable hour, I do realize this is a school night, no I won’t treat him disrespectfully- and usually Zachariah (who was _clearly_ a barrel of laughs when you got to know him, _honest_ ) would scowl at him and tell Castiel to come back home at ten, sharp, and then Dean would drive them to Ellen’s (which was still open, and let them order sodas while they studied). Dean and Castiel would study together, while Dean read his chapters and struggled to write his English paper (“It’s only three pages, Dean.” “Shut up, Cas, I’m working- I’m thinking about having a body paragraph being solely on Calpurnia’s rockin’ bod.” “ _Dean._ ”) and Cas would work on his own essays. Studying was _easy_ with Cas. _Everything_ was easy with Cas. Cas was… he was a cool guy to hang around. And even though he was, like, a hundred percent sure that he was holding a lot back, Dean was also sure that he had managed to get Cas to open up a lot more. About little things- his sister Anna, his brothers Michael and Gabriel (“You would like him, Dean.”), his family altogether. And he smiled a lot more. It felt good to make him smile. Really good. 

He was telling Sam, again, about how Cas’s family had this _huge_ house, where apparently no one is allowed to talk, and about how his favorite movies were foreign movies but he watched chick flick movies with his sister, sometimes, when Sam laughed and said, “Dude, just ask him out already.”

And everything was turned on its head.


	5. Until Someone Gives In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean struggles to identify with himself, and pushes Castiel away. Cas, naturally, pushes back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna have to kick it up a notch before mid-June. ....many thanks to mamageek/Deanlovescasbutt, jensenacklesruinedmylife (who waited up and groused at me to finish), and so many others who told me my words are pretty! :3 Also mamageek gets a special notice because she's pretty and made sure my writing of Dean's panic was A-OK.

Luckily, John wasn’t there to hear Dean screaming at Sam for three straight hours. It was a Friday night, though, so the likelihood he would be home before midnight was slim.

“I’m not gay!”

”Dude, you’ve been talking about him for _weeks_.”

”Yeah, he’s my friend! And I have sex with girls!”

”Dean, you know sexuality is a fluid concept, right? You could be bi.”

”I’m _not into dudes,_ Sam!”

Eventually, Sam threw his hands up- overdramatically, Dean thought bitterly, and said, “Fine, fine, whatever, I don’t care! I’m not the one who rushes to answer texts or comes back from your study dates grinning or-“ he ducked the pillow tossed at him. “Dude!”

”Fuck you, Sam, I’m 100% straight. Straight as a damn arrow! We’re _just friends_ , Sam!”

”Dean, for the love of God, I’ve never seen you happier than when you come back! You know there’s nothing wrong with your sexuality!”

Dean left before he said anything else. He revved up the Impala, and veered out of the parking lot, music blasting louder than the words bouncing in his ears.

He drove and drove and drove. It took some time, but finally he was out of the town, somewhere in the vast open spaces between anywhere, driving fast enough that the creeping suggestions didn’t touch him. 

He wasn’t. There was no denying he was straight because come _on_ he had sex with girls! Great sex! He loved it!

The more he thought about it, thoughts twisting and turning and morphing into so many other thoughts, the more he couldn’t stand it. Because the one person he thought he could tell- someone calm and unargumentative and would probably reason this out with him was, well, Cas. And he didn’t… he couldn’t just start arguing his own sexuality to the guy Sam thought he was in love with!

_Girls. Think about girls. They’re nice and soft and pretty with blue eyes and black hair and-_ fuck.

Dean pulled off on the side of the road. He needed to talk to Cas. He could avoid the whole am-I-am-I-not question entirely. He just needed to talk to his best friend. Just _needed_ someone who wasn’t going to judge him or make fun of him or think he’s gay or something. _Fuck_ , if Sammy thought he was, what did everyone else think? On the team? At school? 

Castiel picked up the phone after a few rings. “Dean? What’s the matter?” 

Dean’s laugh was shaky. “Nothing, man, I just. Uh. Never mind. I-“

”Dean.” Cas’s voice was serious now, almost concerned, and _fuck_ if something didn’t flip in Dean’s stomach. “What’s going on, are you alright?”

”Yeah, man, everything’s fine. I’m just…” _sitting out here thinking about your blue eyes and my sexuality and the way you fuckin’ smile, you ass._ Dean felt nauseated for a moment, but answered casually. “Hanging out.”

”Where are you? Are you okay, Dean?” 

”I’m _fine_ , Cas, God. I’m not a kid who needs to be taken care of!”

”Dean. Please. Are you alright?”

”I’m alright, jeez, Cas. I’m fine. I’m just thinking about things.”

There was an audible pause. “Thinking about things? Dean, are you…” he paused, and Dean found himself wanting him to say… something, anything, good bad something in the middle, wanting him to openly confront him about something he wasn’t even sure he needed to be confronted about and did it even matter what he liked because he was just- appreciating the human body?- but the way Cas smiled… “drunk?”

”What?”

”Are you drunk, Dean? Are you driving? Do I need to get Michael to drive us somewhere, or are you home?”

”I’m not drunk! Jesus _Christ_ , man, I’m not drunk, I’m fine, God, just… go study or something!” 

He could hear Cas’s hurt inhale through the speakers, and Dean wanted nothing more than for someone to shoot him, right then. “Look man, I’m… sorry, I’m just.. I don’t know why I called.”

”I don’t know why either, Dean Winchester!” Castiel shouted, which was damned unexpected but maybe not undeserved. Dean winced. “I don’t know why I put up with you!” 

The phone clicked off but Dean continued to stare out his window, ear pressed hotly to the device, mouth open. _Fuck._ Of course he would screw up his one good relationship- _fuck, not a relationship_. 

Dean didn’t know what else to do but to drive to Alastair’s house- usually something was going on at the captain’s house- and drown himself in the pleasant fogginess and buzzing of booze.

***

Castiel almost threw his phone at the wall, but switched it at the last minute and threw his pillow. Everything hurt, everything was angry buzzing, everything was horrid. Damn Dean and his damned stupidity and his recklessness and especially _damn him_ for being so absolutely perfect that he had no choice but to fall madly in love with him. 

”Fuck you, Dean,” he whispered to his lonely, still bedroom, but decided that wasn’t appropriate at all. Not because he meant the sentiment, meant the words- oh, that tender punch of breathlessness knocked into his lungs again, as it had been doing for a week or so now- or even meant the tone. It was the stillness that hurt, like he was in a vacuum of his own emotions and he needed something, anything else. 

Castiel already knew his music choices were too calm for his current mood, too soft for the harsh edges of his anger. He searched online for one or two of the bands he’d heard in Dean’s car- DCAC? Lead Zepplin?- but eventually found something close, all harsh guitars and drums and someone screeching and it was shockingly… perfect. 

He turned it up, louder than his usual volume, and felt the music fill the room with its anger- his anger. “Fuck you, Dean Winchester!” He said, louder, more pleased with himself for creating the perfect venue for his acidity.

Fuck him. Fuck him for his gorgeous smile and stupid hair. Fuck him for being interesting and even listening when Castiel spoke, fuck him for laughing, fuck him for making Castiel’s stomach churn at night when he thought about him. Fuck Dean for making him fall- well, maybe not in love, he wasn’t sure he _could_ love, but at least fuck him for making him feel more than his frigid existence and then taking that away. That, if nothing else, was the worst thing he could do.

Was it? 

It’s not like he knew, anyways.

Castiel fell back on his bed, all anger whooshing out of him, but instead, the low, heavy gas of sadness crept in, pooling in his stomach and joints and bones. He sighed. Dean _didn’t_ know, would never know what Castiel thought of him. How he was rough and kind with a sense of humor that Cas almost understood, how he was smart and passionate and- fuck. He would never know, hopefully never ever know, that for the past couple of nights, locked in his bedroom in his lonely home, he was… well, masturbating. To Dean. Well, to ideas of Dean, holding him, curling his fingers around his length, around _him_ , smiling, laughing, teasing with hooded eyes. 

But that wasn’t the part that was hurt. It was that he was only seen as the studying friend, like some goddamn _trope_ that made him feel less appreciated, less human, than he had ever experienced before. When he was just being ignored, it was alright, fine, whatever, he could live with it; this was just a temporary time, anyways. He’d go off to Princeton or maybe somewhere like Seattle- somewhere with a more popular LBGTQ culture, where he could find someone who he could actually talk to. 

But Dean changed that. Made him feel… human. Made him feel, period, which was new and exciting and terrifying. 

And then he does that. Makes him feel like an idiot. _Fuck him._

Oh, how much he wanted to. Not just for sexual pleasure, just for… Dean. No matter how antiquated he felt, he didn’t just want Dean for his body. He wanted something _more_.

It was _more_ that he wasn’t sure he would be able to have with Dean. All odds withstanding.

Cas sighed again, and groaned. Everything hurt and was sad and angry. He needed so much now, and he wasn’t sure he would ever get it. 

Monday morning was- surprise surprise- a generally bad day. Castiel didn’t want to text Dean first, ensuring that he was okay, but he was also going out of his mind trying to understand what to do now. Were they still going to study? He was doing so well… his papers had been turned in on time, his redone tests were not too horrible, and his GPA had even gone up a few tentative decimal points. 

His mind repeated _Dean Dean Dean_ like a symptom of insanity, a chant, a curse, a prayer, but it wasn’t until lunchtime that he saw him. Cas smiled, hugely, as he saw Dean, walking towards his study group in the back. He stopped, his tray tipping slightly, just in front of Castiel. Dean glanced around the others- Uriel, Rachel, Raphael, and the new kid Tony- and smiled at them, cold and bitchy and angry. “Hey, Honor Roll kids, mind if I borrow Cas for a minute?” 

”Why?” Uriel intoned in his deep, deep voice. “You can just talk to him here.”

”I could. But I just love to piss you fuckers off. Cas, can I talk to you?”

Castiel was conflicted. On one hand, how dare Dean insist he _do_ anything, after the way he treated him, but also… _Dean_. “I’ll be right back,” he placated his friends, and rose from the table. 

He walked over to a comparatively empty table, when Dean put his tray down and crossed his arms. “You’re mad.”

”I’m _mad_

?” Castiel was incredulous. “Of course I’m mad, Dean, I thought we were-“ He broke the sentence off, not wanting to finish with ‘more than that, more than study partners, I thought we were friends and you could be so much more than that.’ Instead he left it, and glared at Dean.

Dean glared back, and rolled his eyes. “Dude. Stop with the chickflick moments. Look, I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have called you like that, and I shouldn’t have done any of that, I was…” Dean ran a hand through his hair, which had grown longer since they had began studying together. “I was… stupid.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes at him. There was something more. What did he say to Cas, that night? That he was thinking about… things? What did that even mean? “You were stupid. You are _stupid._ ” He let out a deep sigh, and shrugged. “It doesn’t matterAlways happy to be a tutor for you, Dean.” He got up to leave. “You’re still picking me up at seven?”

”Cas, don’t be like that.”

”Like what? Just your tutor?” He couldn’t help it- he was hurt, dammit. “Here I was thinking we were friends.”

”We are friends, Castiel. Jeez, did you think we weren’t?”

”Then why…?” He swallowed, but looked up. “Why did you call me, then? What…?”

”It’s nothing!” Dean shouted, much, much louder than expected, and for a second, everyone in the cafeteria hushed and looked at them. Dean blushed- _oh_ \- and lowered his voice. “It’s nothing, Castiel, drop it. Please.” He rose, knees knocking into the sides of the table, and sorta stumbled his way to the football team’s table. 

It bugged him. It was like a nest of creepycrawlies had burrowed under his skin until he was sure he would lose his mind. What was Dean thinking about? What was Dean _doing?_

The question of Dean stayed with him until seven that night, when he kept checking his wristwatch, patiently waiting by the door, and he didn’t show.

He didn’t show, at all, that week. Didn’t respond to texts which were hesitatingly sent out Monday and Tuesday night, didn’t stop to speak with him in class, didn’t talk to him at all. He nearly ran away when Castiel tried to catch up with him, and after that, well, it was no wonder he gave up. 

No, giving up would imply that he had some agency in the matter of his heart. This was more like a balloon deflating, air hissing out slowly, silently dying. He wasn’t sure who to speak to about such matters, either. Anna… Anna probably knew, but he wasn’t sure if she would or wouldn’t tell. There was no telling what she would do. Uncle Zachariah was… well. As for his friends at school… they already thought Dean was an asshole. But there was something more to him… wasn’t there? 

So he waited, in his own undying waiting place, biding the time until he finally gave up and went to bed. Uncle Zachariah had the nerve to grin whenever he would pass by Castiel, sitting by the door, half an hour, an hour, two hours after their usual pickup time. “Guess he’s not coming!” he would say, finally handing Castiel a cup of tea Friday night. Castiel hadn’t even put on his shoes again. But he kept staring out the window, waiting for the _rrrrrrrumble_ of the Impala. 

Castiel trudged up to his room, shut the door, and drank the tea. He should have known. He was an idiot. Dean was an improbable, impossible ass, and he should have never let himself believe that he would have fallen in love with him. Besides, who _would_ love him? He was an anxious, romantic fool who didn’t know how to socialize or “be social” in the first place. He didn’t know how to make someone fall in love with him. And he wasn’t even sure he was able to love.

Something, just then, snapped within him. Without really knowing what he was doing, he shoved on his shoes, put down his tea, and shrugged on his coat. He nearly got out of the house before Uncle Zachariah caught him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

”Out.”

”No, you’re not, it’s nearly eight o’clock.”

”Eight o’clock. On a Friday night. What, am I not allowed weekends out? What, ar you going to make me stay inside and study?”

The look Zachariah gave him could have leveled buildings. “You’re not going anywhere, Castiel Novak, not with that attitude.” 

”Really? What’s going to stop me?” The electricity in his veins kept his mouth going, even as he saw the complete and utter meltdown of any semblance of a social life he might have had. “You?”

Zachariah’s eyes narrowed, and before he could react, he had Castiel’s grip in an iron-tight grasp. “Yes, I will.”

Fear flooded the crazy sparks in his veins, but it jolted him enough so that Castiel pushed him back, surprising the older man, and he rushed out of the door, out of the house. He ran- not that he expected Zachariah to catch up to him, but because the sounds of guitars and drums were still in his ears, stroking that fine electric adrenaline he felt, making him strong, invincible, inhumanly fast-

-and okay, so a little lost as well.

He needed to find Dean. That he knew. And knowing Dean, knowing that he used alcohol as a way to blow off steam, to lose himself in it, he started running towards Alastair’s house. 

***

The party at Alastair’s was loud and rambunctious and exactly the cure for whatever the fuck it was that Castiel managed to make him feel. Alastair’s parents had given up on trying to stop the football players, and instead asked that they not step on the garden or kill the cat. 

Dean grabbed another beer and added money into the general pay-as-you-go jar, and popped the top, sighing with relief at the fizzy, refreshing drink. Okay, so maybe he wanted to be drunk, _good_ and drunk, not just lightheaded. He wanted to _forget_ , wanted to stop having damned internal struggles with ‘do I like him? Am I gay? But I like girls? But Cas is… Cas.’ He wanted to _stop_ thinking and just _be_. It was a beautiful, wild idea, and he just might manage it in the next few beers. 

Lisa was waiting for him on the couch, looking a little wild already. “Hey, babe- got you a beer.” He sat down next to her and smiled, feeling the pleasant lifting of worries already.

Oh, yeah. Nothing like a hot cheerleader in your lap to make you think life wasn’t all that bad.

Lisa, however, had other ideas. “No, get off of me.” She yanked away from his arm, and glared at him. “You’re an ass, Dean Winchester.” 

”What? Whadda do?”

Lisa glared at him, but sighed. “I’m not into it tonight.” She shrugged, and walked off. Dean blinked after her, but shrugged all the same. He could get that. He wasn’t 100% sure he wanted something either. Maybe. Yes? He wasn’t.,. ugh.

”Hey, who let the dork in?” Someone called out from the front of the house

Dork? Which dork?

A little unsteadily, Dean tried to get up off the couch, only to sorta fall back down a few times before he managed to get up. By that time, a crowd was approaching, someone was being mocked, and oh my _God_ why couldn’t he move?

”Dean Winchester?”

Dean looked up to see Castiel, trailed by all of the football team, eyes gleaming, tongue wagging- so _that’s_ what that meant- but all he could really see was Castiel, dark hair messy, eyes so blue it hurt, and an expression that could make an angel weep. “Uh, hey Cas.” 

Castiel turned to the crowd behind him. “Leave,” he said, very simply, but very dangerously as well. And to Dean’s utter surprise, they did- including the couple sitting on the floor. Everyone scattered away.

Castiel closed the door, and locked it, before turning around and glaring at Dean. “What the hell, Dean?” 

”Look, man, I was just really busy-“

”Busy? You were busy?” Castiel hissed. He stood in front of Dean now. Not pacing, oh no, just standing there, still as a statue, as a photo of a lightning bolt, where the energy was always captured but never truly released. “Too busy to send a text? Too busy to say you were busy?”

”I—I—“ 

”You what, Dean? What is going _on_ that you couldn’t just come out and mmmph!”

Without a second thought, maybe without any thought at all, _maybe it was better this way_ , Dean rose up and kissed Cas, holding on the sides of his face, mouths clashing, teeth jarring. Castiel froze- _oh shit oh shit ohshit_ but then he was grabbing onto Dean as well, holding the back of his head roughly, running through his hair, another arm timidly wrapping around his waist-

Castiel was mint and cinnamon tea and warmth. He was chapped lips and tender mouth and then, as they broke apart, he was also dark blue eyes and confused but happy face and then- just then, his heart breaking at the silence- he wore a slight smile, one that grew into a huge one that damn near stole his heart. “Wow.” 

_Fuck._ He loved it- loved the firmness of Cas, loved the hesitant sureness of him, loved- _fuck._

Panicking, Dean backed away from him, pushed and shoved him away, and found himself falling on the couch. Everything was in a riot in his head, things clicking together and yet not, nothing and everything making sense. “Cas-“ he croaked, but Castiel had already started backing up, eyes hurt, shoulders slumped. His lips moved, inaudible words?- but he licked his lips, straightened his shoulders, and opened the door. People damn near fell in, but he moved aside them without fuss. 

It took Dean five whole damn minutes to get out of Alastair’s house, to get out of this hellhole, to convince them that his stupid tutor just had to bitch at him, all the while wanting nothing more than to argue that it wasn’t just his _tutor_ , it was Cas, the boy who made him doubt himself more than anyone else but his eyes, man, his _eyes_ , they were heaven’s light and hellfire and honesty. 

Okay, so maybe he turned into a damned poet when he was drunk. Whatever, the intention was real. He _needed_ Cas.

Luckily, Castiel didn’t know how to drive. And Dean was alright to drive, if he squinted, and knowing the route Cas would take made his task that much easier. He found his… crush? Tutor? Boyfriend? (his stomach lurched) walking, slow and sad, nearly three blocks to his house. He looked like a dejected, kicked puppy, and to Dean’s ultimate surprise, he wanted nothing more than to show him he wasn’t at all unloved. Well. Not un-liked-liked. Whatever, shutup.

He pulled over, stopped the car, and stepped outside. “Hey. Cas!”

”Go away, Dean Winchester, I don’t know what you’re doing-“

”My God, are you crying?”

Castiel looked up, hurt radiating from his everything, blue eyes darkened against the red. “No—no.”

Whatever tough macho-man he might be for his dad, for Bobby, for Sam (on occasion), he knew this was no time to be that. Castiel was hurt. And he was the one who did it. _Fuck._ “Cas.” He kept walking, shoulders pinned up high like wings he could protect himself with. “Castiel, come on, listen to me-“

”No!” Cas spun around, glaring at him. “No, no more, I’m done, okay, I’ve had it. You and your stupid little gaybaiting game… I’m done. I don’t care anymore!” His voice hitched on that last sentence, and he looked worse. Like he might start crying harder. “Dean- I’m-“

Dean moved closer as Castiel began to cry, covering his face with his hands, everything hitching and gasping and hiccupping. Dean slowly encircled him, hushing in soft words, until finally Castiel was crying on his shoulder, sobbing a bit too loud for the conservative family neighborhood at… what, ten? “Shhh, shh, it’s alright. It’s alright, I’ve got you.” 

This was it. This was what Dean was good at- providing some sort of comfort to people he was close to. And, well, he was close to Castiel. Closer to him than he should- _wonder how long it’ll take for you to fuck him up?_

Dean froze, but another sob from Castiel convinced him to keep a hold of him. Poor guy. Was this what happened to smart kids who tried to take on social interactions? Or was this just Cas, so overwhelmed and hurt that he really ought to have been given a gold medal for not breaking down in the middle of the damn party?

Fuck. He did this to him. He screwed this one up- but maybe he could get a second chance?

Right then. Here it was. The big question.

But it never was a question, was it? Because now, holding onto his quieter tutor, who was still shaking but not as violently, smelling the musk of his trenchcoat and soap and, unf, that hair- holding Castiel, now, felt… surprisingly wonderful. And good. And damned perfect. 

So why not?

Castiel sniffled once or twice more, and raised his head from his shoulder, eyes watery, and he frowned. “Your jacket… I’m sorry, Dean.” 

Dean barely noticed the snot, but it wasn’t the worst thing he’d ever had on here. “It’s fine, Cas.” How to do this. How to say ‘please let’s be boyfriends’ without sounding damned needy.

Castiel fidgeted, and Dean reluctantly let him go. “So. Um. Do you mind if I walk with you to your house?” God that was lame. 

He tilted his head at Dean, but smiled- just a small one, one he could have mistaken for a shifting of the lights. He nodded, and Dean quickly locked his car- Baby needed to be _safe_ \- and rushed to Cas’s side. 

Now, just walking, Dean was unsure about everything. What would he do? Should he change his facebook- what would his dad say? Would Bobby mind? Could he be fired? (Was that a thing?) 

Castiel was silent for the first block, and it was only until Dean sorta tripped on a curb- whatever- that he spoke up. “Should you be driving, Dean?”

”I’m not driving, Cas, I’m walking.” 

”Will you be able to drive home? Can you get your…” he paused. “Can you get someone to drive you home?” 

”I’ll be fine, I’ve driven safely at worse, I’ll be fine. Ground’s tryna trip me, though. Something about this white-picket-fence community, man.”

Castiel did that loud nose exhale he did when he didn’t want to laugh, when Dean was being particularly ass-like. “Doesn’t like your look, maybe.”

”Yeah, maybe.”

They were silent for another minute- another house passed by- before the other boy spoke up again. “Did you mean it?”

”Mean what?” 

”The kiss, Dean.”

Of course. The kiss. “I…” He swallowed. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t sure about who he was, yet. Or not as sure as he was five minutes ago. But looking over at Cas, at his worried, tense face, blue eyes guarded against hurt, all his internal dialogue swept away. “Yes. I meant it. Okay, well,” he laughed, harsh, bitter, but he smiled. “Maybe not as a way to shut you up, but- I. Um. Do want to do it again. With you.” Shit, Winchester, pull it together!

Castiel was _more_ than silent. “Are you sure? Because- Dean, I’m not going to wait around for you to be… I don’t know. Better with it? I’m not…” he took a deep breath. “I’m gay.” He was shaking- even under his coat. “But- I know who I am, Dean. And… I haven’t really… come out. To Uncle Zach. To anyone at school. I… I’m scared. But… if we’re going to be together, I need to know you’re not… not gonna…” He gulped, shaking harder. Dean grabbed his elbow, feeling the vibrations of the boy’s jitters in his own arm. “I need to know you’re not gonna get scared. I-“

”I’m not scared, Castiel. Trust me.” Blue eyes looked up accusingly, and he shrugged. “Okay, so this is new. Yeah. But we’re… Jesus, Cas, I think you know me better than I know me. And so this is new, sure, yeah, whatever. And, okay, so I’m a chicken at feelings. But it doesn’t mean it’s not worth a shot. This-“ he gestured vaguely “this is a lot more than just a quickie by the fountain. I’m- Cas, I don’t know everything, but I know you’re a great guy, and dammit, I’ve been thinking about you-” 

The kiss took him by surprise, warmer than before, arms around his neck in something that might’ve choked him if Cas was shorter. But as it was, it was perfect- warmth around him, feeling the soft lips, the firmness beneath the trenchcoat, the desperate gasps as Cas kissed him, over and over and over- freshness and mint and sweet cinnamon and even- fuck- tea?

Dean groaned, and kissed back, with as much fervor, arms locking at the small of Castiel’s back. He couldn’t get over how… perfect he felt.

They broke apart when a car turned onto their street, gasping and feeling like everything was so new and strange like when kids discover kissing in middle school. Everything was different. Everything was… good. He glanced at Castiel, hoping for the same reaction, the same look of ‘my god that was spectacular’- and he was not disappointed in the least. Cas looked surprised and wrecked and- even better- smiling. “That was…”

”Yeah- yeah.” 

They shared a quiet minute, just slowly walking to his house, and the moment he saw the porchlight on, just behind some bushes, Castiel pulled him back and kissed him, rough, then softer, like it was something delicate and beautiful and so damn precious. “Um. Drive safe.”

Dean snorted. “Oh yeah, I will.”

Castiel touched his shoulder, lingering on his upper arm, before he trudged forward, gone to the stupid Porch Light.

Oh yes. Dean was more than awake now.


	6. Okay not real shush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's no chapter, whoops!

Authors note: Hiya! So, people who are following me know this (because every once in a while I've screamed in my tags about it) but I'm going to be gone for a while. Yeah maybe putting this as another chapter was a bad idea. I'll fix it when I get home. Anywho, I'm going to be relatively gone _and_ busy, without the hope of reviving this until mid- to late- August, and then senior year will happen as well as the inevitable "oh shit I'm graduating soon I have no career plans" so when I come back to finish this I will also be juggling a lot more than usual. (Which means to say I'll drink even _more_ coffee and probably finish on Saturdays or Sundays. But until then, I'm not going to be updating.

Thank you so much for putting up with me and my poor-planning self, and thanks for the lovely comments!! I hope you get kissed by puppies or kitties of your choice (or maybe a turtle or two, if you're allergic to fuzzy things) and you find money on the ground. 

Have a good summer break, guys! Enjoy!


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